The Great British Summer has arrived. You never know when to expect it – sometimes it pops by for a visit in April, sometimes it just sends a postcard and leaves you to the rain. This year we're getting an extensive visit, which is absolutely lovely. Even my northern skin has surrendered and changed hue – and given I once lived and worked in a desert for 9 weeks and none of my friends could tell when I got home, this takes some doing.
I have my fingers and toes crossed that it will last for at least another ten days, so that and I can have a truly delightful long weekend rambling through Snowdonia and round the Lleyn peninsula (this trip to our Welsh wilds being as close as I'm getting to a Scottish island any time soon – common sense prevails 😉
In the meantime, I will be sweating buckets around central London on Sunday for the British 10K, assuming I don't get so lost in parish records that I fail to find my way back into the modern day – weather or no, I am currently stuck deep in family research and having a whale of a time trying to decipher 17th and 18th century handwriting.
So – in the words of Christopher Robin – Bisy. Baksun (assuming Eeyore is right, and it rains soon, anyway).